Batman and Iron Man: Black and Gold
by Hellinbrand
Summary: Times are changing in Gotham City. Stark Industries has set itself up in competition with Wayne Enterprises while in the shadows a mysterious new group have allied themselves with one of Gotham's deadliest criminal masterminds. Batman suspects the two events are related. Is Iron Man Batman's newest enemy or his only hope to save the city from a terrible fate?
1. Holy Highway Heist!

**Batman and Iron Man: Black and Gold**

_Author's Note: This story takes places in a 'mash up' of the Marvel and DC superhero universes (e.g. the Daily Planet exists in Metropolis and so does the Baxter Building in New York) where superheroes are still a relatively new phenomenon. The characters are likewise a mixture of elements from comic books, television and film adaptations._

_All characters, locations etc. are copyright of Marvel and DC._

**Chapter 1: Holy Highway Heist! **

'Are we... on schedule?'

'Don't trouble yourself, my dear fellow. The preparations are nearly complete.'

'You are sure... they can be... trusted?'

'Our friends from out of town? They have been well paid. Besides, they are more interested in studying the device and they cannot do that without my help.'

'But... once they have it? Our... bargain?'

'Patience, my friend. All this talk of betrayal! It makes me wonder: once you have what you need from me, will you fulfil _your _half of our bargain?'

'Yes, yes! Whatever... you want. Just get me... Stark's technology.'

'Soon, my friend. Very soon.'

* * *

'Mr Stark, allow me to introduce Bruce Wayne.'

Tony Stark clasped Wayne's hand and took stock of him. A vacuous, over privileged young man, his obscenely expensive dinner suit just failed to hide the slight paunch bulging over his belt. His square-jawed face was tarnished by the prominent bags under his eyes from too many long nights and late mornings. Stark relaxed. What woman would pick this seedy young fop over him, the best-dressed billionaire in the Western hemisphere?

'A pleasure,' said Wayne, 'This is Crystal.' He gestured casually to the blonde girl clinging to his arm. She had the body of a swimsuit model and the dead eyes of a goldfish.

'Tallulah,' said Stark, gesturing to the equally curvaceous and vacant brunette beside him. 'Jarvis, some more drinks over here!'

Stark's butler, a grey and anonymous man with a long, jowly face appeared at his elbow. There was a soft click as the tray of champagne flutes he was carrying bumped against an identical tray carried by Wayne's butler, Alfred.

'I thought you might require some refreshment, Master Bruce,' said Alfred. Stark and Wayne each took two flutes from their own butler, and then dismissed them. The two servants locked eyes for a moment, like tomcats squaring up for a fight, then disappeared as quietly and unobtrusively as they had appeared.

'It's so nice to see some new faces at these parties,' said Wayne.

Stark raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'Really? The only reason I'm in Gotham is to oversee the final stages of construction on the new power plant.' Wayne looked blank. 'The Gotham North plant?' said Stark, 'You know, the one my company outbid your company to build? You're not even a little bit sore about that?'

'Oh, Lucius handles all the business,' said Wayne, examining his cufflinks, 'I'm afraid I find it all rather tedious.'

'You're not... bothered that you don't have a say in how your company is run?'

'Not really. I have people to do all the work. I just turn up for the parties.'

In truth, it was not much of a party. It was a few drinks and a speech to celebrate the opening of Stark Industries' Gotham branch, to oversee the running of the new power plant. Wayne Enterprises had held a monopoly on all energy-related utilities in the Gotham area since Thomas Wayne's time, so Stark Industries winning a contract to install one of their cutting-edge arc reactors was big news. 'Pepper' Potts had persuaded Stark to make a trip to the east coast and make nice with the local high society.

'Love the new building. The decoration is... striking,' said Wayne, casting an arm expansively around the room. It was decorated in gold and vivid scarlet, with chrome for the trimmings. Black-tied waiters slalomed between the guests, a mixture of jowly old aristocrats and their wives and debonair young socialites, flirting idly with one another.

'These figures here,' said Wayne, pointing to the golden statues posed as if holding the light fittings above their heads, 'Your company mascot?'  
'The Iron Man, yes,' said Stark.

The corner of Wayne's mouth twitched. 'How... charming. But he's not just a mascot, is he? Somebody told me he was your _bodyguard_, of all things.'

Stark kept his expression carefully neutral. 'That is his primary role.'

'And he's here tonight?'

'Iron Man is on standby, in case of emergencies.'

Wayne laughed. 'Emergencies? Is Gotham really so dangerous that you need a superhero on speed dial?'

'Your city does have a certain reputation,' said Stark, jaw clenched.

'Oh, it's _horribly_ dangerous!' said Crystal, with a shudder, 'With all these wackos like the Joker and the Penguin running around. Why, last month –'

'Yes, Gotham does have some colourful characters,' said Wayne, patting her hand reassuringly, 'and any sensible man takes precautions. But a _flying_ bodyguard? Forgive me. I don't much care for theatrics.'

Stark was about to say something impolitic when Wayne's butler reappeared at his shoulder, holding a cell phone.

'Forgive me, sir. It's the executive phone.'

Wayne sighed, made his apologies and slipped out of a side door, leaving a bewildered Crystal behind. Stark smiled and slipped his free arm in hers. His evening had just improved immeasurably.

'Have you seen the executive suite on the top floor? No? Great! Why don't the three of us take my privateelevator? I'm sure you two girls will get along just great. Tallulah is _very _open minded...'

* * *

Bruce Wayne stepped out of the atrium and into a side corridor. Anybody who had seen him a moment ago would have questioned whether it was the same man. The stooped shoulders, the vacant expression, the suggestion of flab beneath the tailored suit: all gone. Now he walked upright, clearly a man in his prime with the body of an Olympic wrestler, his eyes clear and purposeful.

He glanced out the window. A signal beam displaying the silhouette of a bat stabbed into the night sky above Gotham's jagged rooftops.

'Master Richard for you, sir,' said Alfred, handing him the phone.

'Dick?'

'Hijacking on Krol Avenue,' said Dick Grayson, on the other end of the line, 'Somebody busted into a depot, made off with a small fleet of HGVs. From the police chatter it sounds like they shot a security guard to get at them.'

'Where are they heading?' asked Wayne.

'West, towards the interstate. The cops are in pursuit.'

'Thanks. Stay on the computer. I may need you to navigate for me.'

'Will do. Good luck, Bruce.'

Wayne handed the phone back to Alfred.

'Will we be returning to Wayne Manor for the other car, sir?'

Wayne shook his head. 'It's too far out of the way. The safe house on 63rd is closer. Bring the limousine round to a side entrance. I'll change on the way.'

'Very good, sir.'

Wayne took a deep, cleansing breath. He could feel the fog of the party lifting as the adrenaline began to flow. Duty called.

* * *

The police only realised that Batman had joined the chase when his motorbike shot past them. Twin headlamps like bat's eyes gleamed out of its black hood. Batman rode low in the saddle, head down, his cape flaring out behind him like a banner.

He overtook the GCPD's patrol cars with ease, the bike purring softly. The convoy of stolen HGVs stretched out ahead of him. There were nine of them tearing along the highway. Batman saw the lead HGV come up behind a smaller civilian truck. The HGV's horn blared but the truck driver just waved him on, not realising the danger. The HGV accelerated, shunting the truck aside. The truck spun round, hit the metal crash barrier with a crunch and was then crushed against it by the second HGV.

Batman squeezed the accelerator. The rear HGV was directly ahead of him. He pulled left, attempting to draw alongside the cab. Suddenly the HGV swung to the left, trying to run him off the road. Batman braked, dropping back as the vehicle's cumbersome trailer lurched across, only to drift right and come up on the other side of the cab. The passenger window was open. Batman removed a smoke pellet from his utility belt and tossed it through the narrow opening. Thick white smog erupted inside the cab. Batman heard a voice cry. Brakes squealed. The HGV lurched to the right, much too suddenly for a vehicle of its size. The tyres screeched and the acrid smell of burning rubber filled the air. The HGV spun around, teetered for a moment on one set of wheels, finally toppling onto its side with a booming crash.

Batman did not stop to watch: he was already drawing alongside the next vehicle. One of the thieves, face hidden beneath a balaclava, was leaning out of the passenger window, staring in disbelief at the wrecked truck. He raised a sub-machine gun and opened fire on Batman. Bullets pinged off the asphalt. Batman touched a button on his dashboard. The hood of his bike expanded, raising a bullet-proof shield in front of his head. Bullets bounced off, striking red sparks on the black metal. Batman dropped back slightly, aligning himself with the trailer's rear wheels. He squeezed a trigger on the bike's handle. Three throwing stars zipped out of a slot below the bike's headlamps, shredding the tire. Batman drifted left, shredding the second tire with another salvo of stars. The trailer slumped back onto its rear axel. Sparks sprayed up onto Batman's bike as the unprotected wheels scraped across the road surface. The HGV began to lose speed. Batman accelerated again, leaving the crippled vehicle for the police.

The third HGV slowed down as Batman approached. The passenger door burst open. A figure in workman's overalls and a rubber gorilla mask leant out, balancing precariously on the footplate. It raised a cumbersome, oversized pistol in its free hand. A burst of bright blue laser energy shot from the muzzle, blasting a hole in the asphalt inches away from Batman's bike.

'Damn!' said Batman, swerving to avoid a second shot that would have vaporised his front wheel. He slalomed back and forth across the road, avoiding the gunman's wild laser blasts but failing to make any progress.

The masked figure lowered the pistol. Reaching into its overalls, it produced a round object about the size of a coconut. A pattern of bright yellow lines glowed across its surface. The gunman tossed it towards Batman then swung back inside the cab. The ball bounced along the road, making a whining noise like a kettle on the boil. Time seemed to slow down. Batman reached for his grapple gun. The ball bounced closer. Batman kicked off from the bike with both legs, leaping away from the ball. A second later the ball disintegrated, sending shockwaves shimmering through the air like ripples on a still pond. The bike shivered as the shockwaves washed over it. Smaller pieces began to fall away, nuts and bolts, then whole sections of panelling. In a heartbeat the entire bike, engine and all, had been shaken into its component parts.

Batman twisted in midair, fired the grapple gun at a lamppost and swung round out of the blast radius. He landed on the roadside beside the remains of his motorbike and watched the stolen HGVs disappear into the distance.

* * *

It was nearly dawn when the Batwing finally brought Batman back to the cave. Robin, still in his civilian clothes, was dozing gently in a chair next to the computer. His college textbooks were spread out across the keyboard. Batman felt a twinge of guilt that Robin had lost another night studying by waiting up for him. Even Bruce Wayne had finished college before he devoted himself to crime fighting.

'I told you to go to bed,' said Batman brusquely. Robin woke instantly, a talent he had developed over years of working with Batman.

'I wanted to make sure you were okay,' he said.

'I'm fine.'

'Do you want me to call Alfred?'

'No. He needs his sleep.'

'And you don't?'

Batman did not take the bait. He sank down into the chair next to Robin and pushed his cowl back, rubbing his eyes.

'So the bike's wrecked, huh?'

'Disintegrated,' said Batman, 'I had Jim put a cordon around the wreckage: I'll send one of the usual people to clear it up.'

'Sounds like they were using some serious weapons tech',' said Robin. He looked worried.

'It's beyond cutting-edge: I've only heard about weapons like that in theoretical papers.'

'So who could make one?'

'Palmer, Sivana, Reed Richards. And Tony Stark.' Batman activated the computer and began searching through the various databases.

'Stark?' said Robin, 'I thought he got out of the arms business a couple of years ago?'

'Maybe, maybe not,' said Batman, not looking across from the bank of computer monitors, 'He's hiding _something_, take it from someone who knows. And the site of his new power plant has been closed for months. I don't trust him.'

'You don't trust anybody. Do you have any actual _evidence_ linking Stark to this robbery?'

Batman smiled grimly. 'Just this. Most of the thieves got away; the GCPD lost the convoy when they reached the interstate. But they did arrest the four from the vehicles I took down.' Photos of four thick-set, thuggish men appeared on the main monitor. 'I just accessed their employment records. All four were working construction at the Gotham North Plant.'

Robin gave a low whistle. 'Are you going to take this to Commissioner Gordon?'

Batman shook his head. 'It's circumstantial. I need something solid. I want to access Stark's records but that's impossible from here. I only made the link with these four because Stark farmed out his casual labour to a local company. His own records are much more heavily protected. I'll have to get physical access to his computers.'

'We're going to break into Stark Tower?'

'_I _am. I'll go alone, tomorrow night. It'll be easier on my own.'


	2. The Iron Man Cometh - to Gotham!

**Chapter 2: The Iron Man Cometh... to Gotham! **

The sun was setting as Batman crouched in the shadow of a stone gargoyle across the street from Stark Tower. He had spent the day planning this mission: how to enter the building, how to access Stark Industries' mainframe and how to get out before their security realised what was happening. He estimated it would take less than ten minutes. He had downloaded an advanced cyber-warfare programme from Wayne Tech's software division onto a data stick. It was capable of breaching and stripping the memory from even the most advanced computers in a matter of minutes.

He had also planned for the most likely contingencies, loading his utility belt with smoke bombs and bolas to disable any guards who might happen to walk in on him. If the worst should happen, he could activate a remote control to summon the Batmobile from its hiding place in an alley several blocks away.

The first stage of the mission went smoothly. He had watched as the employees filed out of the building earlier in the evening and security locked the main doors. Then, just after nine, a limousine had drawn up at a side door to collect Tony Stark and his date for their visit to Lucky Jack's Casino downtown. Batman tracked the limousine through his binoculars until it was out of sight.

Night crept slowly over Gotham. Stark Tower was still and dark. Only the occasional light showed in its windows where a cleaner or a security guard was making their rounds. It was a pre-war building, purchased and repurposed by Stark Industries for their Gotham headquarters. The roof was like a church spire, reaching to a sharp point, and decorated with curling stone nodules. Below this spire, on the south side of the building, Stark had built a wide balcony in chromed steel and glass, leading into his penthouse suite on the very top floor.

Batman replaced his binoculars and drew his line launcher. The launcher fired with a muted pop. One cable shot backwards, securing itself in the wall behind Batman. The second cable arced across the chasm between the two buildings and fastened onto the spire of Stark Tower. Batman then slid across, a dark shadow flitting high above the streetlights.

Two cameras, mounted high up on the corners of the building, watched the balcony. Batman climbed down the spire with practiced ease and unhooked both of them from behind. The security guards would soon notice that two of their cameras had blacked out but Batman planned to be long gone before they came to check. He swung down onto the balcony, landing softy. He tried the door. It was unlocked. He slipped inside.

Stark had not bothered to draw the curtains before leaving for the night, so it was quite light inside. A large, plush bed dominated the centre of the room, flanked on either side by statues of Iron Man. Smaller doors led off to a bathroom and a walk-in wardrobe. Batman ignored these and headed straight for the main door that led to Stark's private office. This door was locked but it was the work of seconds for Batman to open it with a skeleton key. So intent was he on opening the door that he did not notice one of the statues turn and watch him leave.

The office was as neat as a showroom. The polished desktop shimmered in the light streaming in through the windows. Batman wondered if Stark had ever actually sat behind it. The computer was not locked away. Batman turned it on and inserted the data stick. The Wayne Tech programme would start automatically. He just had to wait.

He heard a sound behind him, through the open door to the bedroom: a heavy footfall. Slowly he drew a batarang from his belt, estimating the intruder's height and distance from him, then spun round, fast as a whip crack. The batarang arced through the air, perfectly aimed to strike the intruder on the temple and knock them unconscious.

The batarang struck the smooth metal helmet with a ringing clang and dropped to the carpet.

'Let me guess. You're Batman,' said Iron Man.

He made a grab for Batman. Batman pushed the grasping arm aside and struck sideways with his elbow, aiming for Iron Man's ribs. Pain shot up his arm as his elbow struck the unyielding red breastplate. Iron Man swung his arm sideways and Batman was flung into the air. He sailed over the desk and landed heavily on the far side, knocking the wind out of him.

'You'd better stay down, pal,' said Iron Man, advancing round the desk. He raised his hands towards Batman, the palms of his red gauntlets glowing with a fierce white light.

Batman leapt up and towards Iron Man, throwing a pair of bolas as he rose. The bolas wrapped themselves around Iron Man's forearms, drawing them together. Batman followed them with a flying dropkick to Iron Man's chest. Iron Man fell hard, smashing through a corner of the wooden desk. Batman bounded over him, plucked the data stick from the computer and ran for the balcony.

Iron Man snapped the bolas as if they were no thicker than twine. He stood up, extended an arm and fired a burst of luminous repulsor energy from his palm. Batman, hearing the repulsor bark, dropped and rolled under it. The energy burst struck Stark's bed in a cloud of flame and feathers. Batman twisted and hurled a smoke bomb at Iron Man's feet. The bedroom filled with thick, dark smog through which only the glow of Iron Man's eyes and chest light still showed. He sent another repulsor blast screaming past Batman's shoulder but Batman was already outside.

'Stop!' cried Iron Man. Batman leapt from the balcony. Gathering his cape behind him, he plummeted towards the street like a black arrow. The ground approached at a breathtaking speed. In a heartbeat the cars below went from vague, coloured blots to recognisable makes and models. At the last moment, a fraction of a second from certain death, Batman spread his arms. His cape flared out, forming a huge black parachute to cushion his landing. Cars screeched and swerved as he landed in the middle of the street.

Iron Man followed, a red and gold blur hurtling from the balcony even faster than Batman had fallen. Batman tried to dodge but he was not fast enough. Iron Man tackled him off his feet and smashed him into a parked car on the far side of the street. Batman groaned and slumped to the floor.

'What were you doing in Tony's office?' said Iron Man, standing over Batman, fist raised to strike. Batman looked up at him and smiled grimly as a thin trickle of blood ran down from beneath his cowl.

Engine bellowing, the Batmobile, summoned by Batman's remote control, rammed into Iron Man. He tumbled along the road, his armour striking sparks on the asphalt. Batman staggered upright, breathing hard, and dropped into the driver's seat. The hood slid forward over him. Through the windshield he could see Iron Man standing up, his once shining armour now battered and scuffed from the fall.

'Alright,' said Iron Man, panting, 'You asked for it!'

He raised both arms, gauntlets blazing with light. Batman slammed the Batmobile into reverse. Chunks of asphalt exploded from the road where the repulsor blasts struck. Batman swung the car round in a great circle and sped off down the street.

Iron Man shot into the air and gave chase, arms thrust out ahead of him. Batman clutched the steering wheel, willing himself to ignore the thundering pain in his head and chest. He slalomed through the traffic. Civilians beeped their horns or swerved onto the pavement to avoid him. Iron Man hovered above, repulsors cracking. Batman dodged as best he could, shunting other cars aside to make room. The repulsor blasts gouged holes in the road surface and scythed through lampposts but the Batmobile was surprisingly nimble for its size and Iron Man could not land a clean shot. Yet he was persistent, hovering constantly above and behind the car.

They were drawing near to the edge of downtown Gotham. Batman knew he could not continue the chase indefinitely, not without leading Iron Man to the Batcave. He reached across to the dashboard and opened one of the emergency panels. He thumbed a glowing blue button, activating the Batmobile's surface-to-air missile. He had installed it to take down helicopters and airships but now it was his only defence against this implacable armoured enemy. The missile fired out of a slot behind the cabin with a whoosh and a burst of smoke. Iron Man saw it coming and barrel-rolled sideways. He struck the side of an apartment building and scraped along the wall for a few seconds, coating him armour in brick dust. The missile spiralled past and exploded high above the city in a vivid red fireball.

Iron Man now changed tactics. He gave a new burst of speed, red light burning from his boots and hands, until he had almost overtaken the Batmobile. Then he made a sudden dive, landing on its roof. Batman could hear the chassis scream and bend as Iron Man's fingers dug in.

'Big mistake,' said Batman, pushing a vivid green button on the dashboard. A network of electric circuits running all across the surface of the Batmobile activated, momentarily turning the car into one giant generator. Iron Man, spread eagled on the roof, was racked from head to toe. He lost his hold on the car and went spinning away, limbs flailing helplessly. He crashed through the front window of a department store, ploughed through the displays and only came to a halt when he struck the rear wall.

Batman gave a sigh and put his foot down. The Batmobile tore out of Gotham and onto the little-known back roads that led to the Batcave. Batman could have sat back and let the car's autopilot take him the rest of the way but he did not want to risk falling unconscious. Now the immediate threat had been dealt with the pain in his head and ribs seemed to double. He grimaced but kept himself focused on the driving. He was angry. That helped.

Alfred was waiting for him as he drove into the Batcave. Silently, he helped Batman out of the car and to the surgery. In truth it was little more than a lamp, a bed and a bench of surgical equipment but it was among the most vital equipment in the whole cave. Batman stripped off his cowl, cape and shirt and sat on the bed while Alfred tended to him.

'The Kevlar lining in your shirt has spared you some broken ribs,' said Alfred briskly, 'But that cut on your forehead is going to need stitches.

'I take it things did not go according to plan?' he said, selecting needle and thread.

'Iron Man was there,' said Batman darkly.

'Ah,' said Alfred. He sewed up the cut in silence, while Batman sat and fulminated. He replayed the events of the evening in his mind, analysing every detail. How could he have missed him in the penthouse? The man was wearing a suit of armour. He had underestimated Iron Man and Stark.

'All done,' said Alfred, 'Did you at least get the data you went for?'

Batman held up the datastick. 'Get the computer started on decrypting it,' he ordered, 'Then get to bed.'

'Very good, sir. And yourself?'

'I've got something to finish off down here.'

'Even Mrs Thatcher got fourhours of sleep every night...'

'_Thank you_, Alfred.'

Left alone in the cave, Batman settled himself in front of his computer. Stark was hiding something, he was more certain of that now than ever. That meant another run in with Iron Man was inevitable. He had to be ready.

'Computer, prepare suit seven mark six for field deployment. Authorisation code zero, five, zero, one, one, nine, five, two. Codeword: Metropolis.'

* * *

'Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Iceberg Lounge. Your name, please?'

'Tesla.'

'Thank you. Please go through.'

The man known as Mr. Tesla gave a sigh as he stepped into the club. He was a man who prized innovation above all things. 'New' and 'modern' were the highest terms of praise he used, while phrases such as 'old fashioned' or 'traditional' were used with utter contempt. To him, the Iceberg Lounge, with its lavish Art Deco furnishings and house band playing swing jazz, was positively offensive. Even the bevy of long-legged waitresses in their fishnet stockings and top hats did not appeal. To him, women were nothing more than a distraction.

Tesla selected a table on the very edge of the room and busied himself on his smartphone. After about ten minutes, a waitress sashayed over and served him a cocktail that he had not ordered. Checking that he was not being watched, Tesla looked under the glass. A tiny QR code was stuck to the base. He scanned it. A message appeared on his phone: 'Mr C. will see you in the Eyrie. Follow the girl.'

The waitress led him through the dining area, past the artificial lake at the centre of the club, where the band played from an artificial iceberg and live penguins swam about, to a plain door in the far wall. It opened onto a spiral staircase, leading up to another door flanked by two hulking goons in dinner jackets. They frisked Tesla in a brisk, practiced manner, then ushered him politely through into a small but comfortably furnished room.

Oswald 'The Penguin' Cobblepot was waiting for him, perched in a plump leather armchair, his little legs barely stretching to the carpet. A huge one-way mirror had been built into the wall opposite him, giving Penguin a panoramic view of the club below. Three beautiful young women lounged behind his chair. They might have been mistaken for common molls, expensive eye-candy to distract Penguin's visitors, but Tesla knew better. There was a steely athleticism to these women, a certain cool confidence in their bearing that hinted at their true role. They were Penguin's bodyguards, hiding in plain sight.

'Mr. Tesla. Welcome! Jay, Raven, a drink for our guest,' said Penguin, gesturing Tesla to the couch opposite. 'And to what do we owe this pleasure?'

Tesla avoided meeting Penguin's gaze by taking off his glasses and cleaning them. Although he regarded Penguin's affectations, the tuxedo, the monocle, the umbrella, with the same disdain as his club, he did not underestimate the man himself. Penguin's reputation was known all along the east coast. That made what Tesla had to say even more difficult.

'I've come to discuss the terms of our agreement,' said Tesla.

'Oh?' said Penguin, 'I must confess that I am surprised. When I saw you enter I thought you had come to apologise for the pandemonium you and your lackeys created acquiring those trucks last night.'

'We had no choice,' said Tesla hotly, 'There's no time left to bring some in from out of town.'

'It was sloppy. Some of your men were apprehended.'

'Hired grunts,' Tesla shrugged, 'They know nothing important.'

'It was still a mistake. Gotham is not a forgiving town, Mr Tesla. Even small mistakes can be dangerous here.'

'Indeed. That is what I am here to discuss. My superiors feel that we did not make a proper assessment of the situation. They've authorised me to... negotiate for a larger fee.'

Tesla held his breath. There was a sudden glint of anger in Penguin's eyes, as savage as it was brief. The moment passed and he was the urbane host once again.

'And what sort of an increase did you have in mind?'

'Two million,' said Tesla. Penguin raised an eyebrow.

'Go on.'

'The situation is more... hazardous that we anticipated,' said Tesla, 'The Batman...'

'... is an occupational hazard in these parts,' said Penguin smoothly, 'Please don't pretend that you had not considered the possibility that he might interfere in this affair.'

'That may be,' said Tesla, speaking more confidently than he truly felt, 'but we have reason to believe that Stark has brought Iron Man with him to Gotham. And he's due until the plant is fully operational.

'I assure you, Mr Cobblepot, we have no intention of reneging on our deal. My organisation simply wishes our fee to reflect the level of risk that we are taking in this venture, and to allow us to prepare for any contingencies.'

The Penguin did not reply. He clicked his fingers. One of his bodyguards produced a silver cigarette case. Tesla sat in silence, watching nervously as Penguin's bodyguard selected a thin white cigarette, lit it, stuck it in a long black cigarette holder and handed it to him. Penguin took a long drag and exhaled contentedly.

'Do you like animals, Mr Tesla?' said Penguin.

Tesla frowned. 'Not especially.'

'My passion is ornithology. It has been ever since I was a boy. But I have a fondness for most of our _animalian _cousins. Allow me to show you.'

Penguin, accompanied by his bodyguards, led Tesla out through a side door and into the backrooms of the Iceberg Lounge. They came at length to a large, dimly-let aquarium. Small tanks were set into the walls at regularly intervals, containing a variety of tropical fish. In the centre of the room stood a large, round tank. Tesla could see something large and sleek swimming in its depths.

'Allow me to introduce Brutus,' said Penguin. He tapped on the large tank with the tip of his umbrella. The dim shape swam closer and Tesla recognised the mad, black eyes, the grey skin and the gaping, tooth-filled maw of a great white shark.

Penguin led Tesla to a ladder in the corner of the aquarium. One of the bodyguards dropped back, so that there was a woman both in front and behind Tesla as they climbed. A series of metal gangways had been constructed above the aquarium, looking down into Brutus's tank. Penguin exchanged his umbrella and cigarette for a bucket of offal, held by a waiting attendant. Standing on the gangway, he tossed pieces of meat into the tank for Brutus to snap up. As he fed the shark, he spoke to Tesla in a conversational manner, as if they were doing nothing more extraordinary than feeding ducks in the park:

'_Carcharodon carcharias: _the most feared and famous predator in the ocean. The quintessential man-eater. But, as fearsome as he looks, the great white is not the deadliest creature on the planet. It's not even the most dangerous thing in our waters. The crocodile, the hippopotamus, even the humble jellyfish: statistically speaking, they kill more humans every year. But ask your man in the street what he's more frightened of – a great white or a jellyfish – and he's sure to pick our dear friend here every time.'

Penguin offered the bucket of offal to Tesla, who declined hurriedly. Penguin shrugged.

'I've had to fight for what I have, Mr. Tesla,' he continued, 'Gotham is a city of great bounty to enterprising gentleman like ourselves, but it is not easily won. There are the police, of course. They're becoming less amenable every year. And now they've got their pet rodent. They are a constant threat.

'I also have to deal with my competition. Most are just small operations, looking to scavenge off me. The larger ones I can buy off, or bully, or negotiate with. But some... some are a different matter altogether. The so-called "super villains": Joker, Two-Face, Poison Ivy and the rest of that charming crowd from Arkham. How does a gentleman secure his interests in a city populated by the likes of _them?_

'It's simple really. I have acquired a reputation for _consistency. _My word is my bond. If you pay my enforcers, I leave you alone. If you buy narcotics from my people, they're always pure. And if I want you dead... you know not to make any long-term plans. People in this city know that if I give my word, I keep it. I'm not going to change my mind on a whim or the flip of a coin.'

Penguin upended the bucket over the tank and watched the water churn as Brutus devoured the remaining offal. It took a while before Tesla was able to tear his eyes away from the tank. He stood up straight and coughed meaningfully. Penguin might be a kingpin in his own city but his power was nothing compared to that of the organisation Tesla represented. He would not let himself be bullied.

'Our agreement, Mr Cobblepot?'

Penguin gave him a shrewd look. 'I can give you another five hundred thousand.'

'That's not enough,' said Tesla, 'My superiors are talking about bringing in a cape-killer.'

'Ah!' said Penguin brightly, 'Allow me to be of assistance. The five hundred stands and I will find you a cape-killer from the local muscle. I'll put out word that you're going after the Batman. That will be enough.'

'One million, and it's a deal.'

'Seven fifty.'

'Done.'

They shook hands.

'And your... other partner?' said Tesla.

Penguin made a dismissive gesture. 'He's not interested in money. All he wants is the device'. He turned to one of his bodyguards.

'Lark, my sweet? Bring Waylon Jones in. Tell him I'm calling in a favour.'

'We can supply weapons, cybernetic enhancements, whatever he needs,' said Tesla.

'Oh I am sure he'll like that,' said Penguin, grinning broadly.


End file.
